


put your circuits in the sea

by pixiepower



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bisexuality, Blow Jobs, Developing Relationship, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, Instructional Sex, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Polyamory, Porn with Feelings, Threesome - M/M/M, mentions of pegging, more or less....., should i let you guess if they’re in love or does the mingyu pov give it away
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:26:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27260434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pixiepower/pseuds/pixiepower
Summary: “I just want to make sure it’s good for you,” Mingyu says, eyes squeezing shut with some mixture of embarrassment and arousal, the general vibe for most of Mingyu’s hookups.This isn’t just another hookup, though. This is—Hansol and Minghao. This is them. Theirs.Mingyu wants to be theirs.
Relationships: Chwe Hansol | Vernon/Kim Mingyu, Chwe Hansol | Vernon/Kim Mingyu/Xu Ming Hao | The8, Chwe Hansol | Vernon/Xu Ming Hao | The8, Kim Mingyu/Xu Ming Hao | The8
Comments: 11
Kudos: 128





	put your circuits in the sea

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chickenfrog](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chickenfrog/gifts).



> title from “electric feel” by mgmt.
> 
> commissioned by dee. as you can see, this got a little out of hand! thank you for your patience and thank you for trusting me! big thanks to isabel for the beta; this would be truly unreadable otherwise.
> 
>  **note:** while this fic discusses a character coming to terms with their sexuality, there is no mention of homophobia or biphobia, internalized or otherwise. if you need additional information please do not hesitate to reach out!

Confidence is a thing learned, and Mingyu has always been studious.

Or, perhaps more accurately, he’s always been a quick study. It’s simply a matter of adjustment when Mingyu tries something new, a steep learning curve until he’s mastered it. There is something inside Mingyu that preens when he picks up a skill without really trying, when he can impress someone with his natural aptitude. 

Anything worth doing comes easily, and willpower alone can get him pretty far, always has. 

It, at the very least, has managed to situate him snugly between two boys, in their bed, on a mattress just this side of too-firm, ankles knocking against ankles and mouths hungry against mouths. He wouldn’t call it _finessed,_ per se, it’s hardly graceful or refined, but Mingyu is a little unduly proud of just how quickly he’s managed to develop an aptitude for these bodies.

That said, there’s always room for improvement. And Mingyu is of the opinion that practice makes better.

If only they would let him practice.

“Please let me get my mouth on you,” Mingyu pleads quietly against the corner of Minghao’s lips.

Minghao’s voice is playful when he replies, breath ghosting over Mingyu’s mouth, “What am I kissing, then?”

Whining in the back of his throat, Mingyu pouts. Minghao’s giggle is muffled as he takes the opportunity to suck Mingyu’s lower lip into his mouth, run his tongue over it. Mingyu’s eyes flutter shut. Hansol’s chin is hooked over Mingyu’s shoulder, just content to watch for now. His hands are gentle on Mingyu’s sides, stabilizing the voltage threatening to overload Mingyu’s system.

What few fits and starts they’ve had down this road have ended in hot kisses turning sweet, wandering hands redirected to waists, murmured assurances that _there’s no rush, Mingyu, take your time._

And their generosity is thoroughly appreciated, their patience and their willingness to tamp down their own desire to ensure that Mingyu is at ease. To be honest, Mingyu really didn’t think that he would be this comfortable this quickly. 

But he’s always been a people-pleaser, eager to be what people want and need, and now that he has one foot in the doorway of knowing what _he_ wants and needs he might as well blow down the whole house.

“You know what I mean,” he groans, wriggling restlessly where he’s situated between Hansol and Minghao. His thigh nudges up where Minghao’s legs are tangled in his lap, and Minghao bears down against it unthinkingly before going pink. Mingyu catches him around the waist before he can scramble off of him. If he moves away, out of this warm bubble of emotion, Mingyu might lose the nerve. “I’ve been thinking about going down on you for weeks,” Mingyu explains quickly to Minghao’s collarbone.

Two hands flat on Mingyu’s chest, Minghao pushes back to settle on his heels, eyes flicking to Hansol’s over Mingyu’s shoulder for a moment before coming to rest on Mingyu’s again, searching him for hesitation, maybe, or humor. He finds none. “Oh,” Minghao says, in a very quiet voice, eyes giant and sparkling and beautiful like he can’t believe his luck. He looks to Hansol again, face-meltingly soft, expression eager, _Can we keep him?_

Mingyu worries his lower lip between his teeth to prevent his smile from bursting onto his face, or maybe worse, asking them to keep him forever.

“You sure, hyung?” Hansol asks. Mingyu can tell he’s trying to keep his voice even, because his thighs are tensed behind Mingyu’s, too, like he’s holding his breath in his whole body.

Mingyu knows what that’s like, wanting something so badly but not knowing how to give it voice. Wanting to put your fate in someone else’s hands, pass the decision to them, because sometimes leaping on your own is just too daunting. But the decision to trust someone else with your heart, with your life; that’s a leap too, one that Mingyu is more and more glad he’s made as the days go by.

Patient and wanting in equal measure, Hansol and Minghao aren’t shy about how they feel about Mingyu, but let him decide, waiting in dimness for Mingyu to flip the switch.

“Yeah. I’m ready,” says Mingyu, running his hands up and down Minghao’s back, thumbs gentle on his hips and down the sides of his thighs.

Letting out a long exhale, Hansol’s hand slides up Mingyu’s shirt, nudging Minghao’s hands up a little higher to settle on Mingyu’s shoulders, and kneads at his chest. It’s gentle, until it isn’t.

“I, _anh,_ ah—” Mingyu swallows back a moan, and Minghao giggles, pulling at Hansol’s wrist to get him to ease up on Mingyu’s nipple. Grateful, Mingyu grins and breathes deep before trying again. “I just want to make sure it’s good for you,” Mingyu says, eyes squeezing shut with some mixture of embarrassment and arousal, the general vibe for most of Mingyu’s hookups.

This isn’t just another hookup, though. This is—Hansol and Minghao. This is them. Theirs. 

Mingyu wants to be theirs.

Should he feel differently about this? Staring his desire in the face, hesitating with his hand on the light switch? Changed, or something? Panicked, or stressed, or like he needs to do some thinking? Mingyu has Hansol’s hand smoothing over his chest in his t-shirt, Minghao in his lap, and he simply can’t expend any energy for a crisis.

It just… wasn’t like _this_ with any of his past relationships.

On the surface, maybe, there are similarities. But looking back, really looking, they’re all poor imitations of this natural, easy camaraderie, of three wavelengths of laughter in the coffee shop, of smirks across a museum floor.

Catching feelings should feel like this—like electricity buzzing under his skin, eagerness and excitement. Like full power. A charged battery. Ready and wanting.

Like his first girlfriend.

Like his first boyfriends.

“It’s just like with any other partner you’ve had, then,” Hansol says matter-of-factly, voice dipping low as he moves over to Mingyu’s other side properly. His teeth graze Mingyu’s earlobe, sending a shiver down his spine when he murmurs, “We’ll try things out. See what we like.”

“Sounds good to me. I seem to recall Chungha-noona not having any complaints.” Mingyu grins wolfishly.

That’s for certain. She worked in a different department than Mingyu, and they got along well, introduced by a mutual friend (and he always trusted Mina’s judgement. After all, no one who could wear that many hairstyles with such versatility could ever steer him wrong). They were never all that serious, either. A handful of dates, a makeout session in her car, a hookup or two, or five. For all intents and purposes the perfect picture of friends with benefits.

In the bedroom, especially, it was never that serious, until it sort of—was. 

Until Chungha asked offhandedly, the way you stick your hand out without looking to let a wild animal nose you, if Mingyu had ever _taken_ anything. 

The lede had been buried in a casual conversation about their exes, swapping sordid tales more like friends and less like lovers, and Chungha had smiled a quiet, private little smile through a story about her ex-girlfriend Nayoung, mentioning the toys collecting dust in her bedside table. Not so much giving him an out as an in. But Mingyu’s stomach had flipped a little at the idea, and he bored a hole into the side drawer with his eyes for the next hour or so, and when he asked if he could see Chungha put it on, her eyes had sparkled like it was her birthday. (It wasn’t. They had done a cake at work and everything like five months prior. But Mingyu has always been pretty good at gift-giving.)

 _(“Wanting it doesn’t make you anything you don’t want to be,_ ” _Chungha had murmured encouragingly, and Mingyu had swallowed thickly, nodding with his forehead and face buried in her pillowcase. It was both better and worse that way, everything muffled and quiet except the raw need and excitement echoing in his mind, sent express from Chungha’s delicate fingertips, dainty and gentle and wet._

_He turned his face to the side, her press-on nails popped off in a little gem-studded pile on her side table, next to her cell phone and an impossible Polaroid of probably eleven girls shoved into one frame. They grinned at him, bright faces eager and happy, and for some reason that was a comfort._

_So Mingyu relaxed. And then he gasped, and arched his back, and faintly heard Chungha ask if he was okay and called him good, and he shoved whines into the pillow and some time later he came so hard he thinks he maybe blacked out for the better part of a minute. When he came to, he went to reciprocate with both gratefulness and eagerness, and she responded with a laugh, smacked a kiss to his cheek, and purred that she didn’t need his help and was, “all set, actually, babe.”)_

In some ways that was the penultimate step in a series of innumerable moments, ones that added up to a sum that seemed obvious as soon as Mingyu realized the depth of his feelings for Hansol and Minghao.

Chungha had made it all seem so easy: fucking and getting fucked (repeatedly), being bisexual, ending things amicably with Mingyu and getting on a plane and getting back together with Nayoung. To her, everything seemed so possible. She trimmed everything down, streamlined and simple, like Mingyu just had to make one choice, or at least one choice at a time.

But it wasn’t just one thing for Mingyu — it was a tumble of realizations. A reevaluation of everything he thought possible.

For Mingyu, it was more like: fucking, okay, pretty natural, his dearth of experience with partners seeming relatively cut and dry; tumbling into _getting fucked,_ figuring he was just generous, just one of those guys who enjoyed that, who _with the right partner anything can feel good;_ turning into self-reflection, exploration, into trusting himself to know what he wants things he never realized he could ask for before.

 _It doesn’t make you anything you don’t want to be,_ noona had said.

Well, it sure made Mingyu something.

Soon after came the comfort of knowing there are words for this, and Mingyu thinks he might want them.

And then he realized he wants _them:_

One light blew out, then the next, cascading in sparks and bursts of extinguished color, and soon Mingyu had a tangle of smoking fairy lights in his chest and the world’s most devastating crush on not one, but _two_ men, whose laughter and smiles were like generators, sending power running back through the line and overloading the fuses all over again.

It lay dormant, all that potential energy singing in Mingyu’s nerves expelled through his usual energetic activities, months of flirting with the neighbors and inviting them over to snuggle brand-new baby Bobtori, which seemed like a stellar idea but in reality just made Mingyu’s heart expand to fill every open space in his body like he was going to explode with it, and working out with Hansol and drinking wine with Minghao and sitting up straight while they all watched a movie together on Hansol-and-Minghao’s couch. 

_(And when Mingyu dropped his keys down the trash chute trying to juggle mail and groceries and wound up crying in the middle of the day with his back to his front door and paper bags at either side, Minghao had nudged Mingyu’s toe with his own, eyes bright with concern and tongue tucked into his cheek._

_“You want to come into ours and wait for the landlord? You have frozens.”_

_Mingyu laughed wetly, frustration seeping out of his body into the floor, replaced quickly with that potent cocktail of affection and terror where Minghao, and Hansol, and Minghao and Hansol’s apartment, was concerned. “That would be really, really great, actually.”_

_Whether it was Minghao’s smile or the feeling of his hand in his that sent a fresh torrent of tears spilling down Mingyu’s cheeks is impossible to say, but the way Hansol got home from work half an hour later and kissed Minghao on the cheek, sweet and familiar, and then turned and dropped a matching one on Mingyu’s cheek as well certainly poured that emotional cocktail straight down his throat, burning on the way down like a shot._

_You could have heard a pin drop._

_“Mingyu’s keys are in the garbage and his groceries are in the refrigerator,” Minghao said, voice even, cast in relief against his wide, shimmering eyes and his blush-pink ears._

_Hansol clicked his tongue quietly as though to both scold himself and resign himself to his actions. He nodded once, slowly, then twice, then like a bobblehead, like he couldn’t stop. “We should talk, probably.”)_

“You gotta talk to us, okay, hyung?” Hansol says now. “Gotta tell us what you want.”

Mingyu cranes his neck to try and kiss Hansol, whose gentle laugh at his eagerness curls around Mingyu’s ear and sends tingly currents over his palms and the bottoms of his feet. Hansol’s mouth catches Mingyu’s cheek, just under the apple where it curves toward his mouth, as Mingyu says, “I want to suck you off. Both of you. To start. Actually, I have a list on my phone if you want to look at it, it’s not an official checklist yet, but. Doesn’t hurt to be prepared.”

“One at a time,” Hansol says tightly, his voice just this side of alarmed, like he was hit by the image of Mingyu trying to manage both of them at once. Mingyu is ambitious, but he might be willing to resign himself to the fact that that’s beyond his scope. 

At least for his first time.

Minghao’s laughter rings delighted between the three of them. The kisses he presses to Mingyu’s neck are more giggle than lips, and before Mingyu knows it he’s swinging his leg back over Mingyu and pushing his pants down, lying in his t-shirt and briefs next to Hansol, their backs to the headboard. “This okay?”

No sound makes it out of Mingyu’s mouth, brain suddenly producing nothing of importance but _long legs_ and _cock_ and _hhghrh._

Hansol laughs this time, too, but it shakes out into a long, smooth exhale when Mingyu scoots down to the end of the bed, turning onto his stomach to look up between Minghao’s legs at him and Hansol with a determined expression.

“Take your time.” Hansol’s head seems to be in a much clearer space than Mingyu and Minghao, as is usually the case. When things ramp up, Mingyu is the first to get carried away, which usually means Minghao is close behind. Hansol is steadying, stabilizing and endeared.

“Yeah, yeah.”

Mingyu ought to have expected that Minghao’s cock would be as lean and pretty as the rest of him. Mingyu ought to have expected—well, _something._

But instead he has both hands hooked in the band of Minghao’s underwear, pulling it out and down, staring at the mostly-hard line of his cock against the grey of his t-shirt, curving gently up toward his stomach, mind suddenly empty. He wants to look at Minghao’s face, or Hansol’s, but finds that he can’t tear his eyes away from a hand’s width in front of him.

Embarrassingly, Mingyu feels his mouth fill with saliva, and he has to swallow hard to keep his tongue from betraying him. He presses his knees together, reaching out tentative fingers to brush gently at the thatch of hair at the base. Minghao lets out a long, slow, quiet breath as Mingyu touches him, slides his fingertips upward, delicate like magnets, listens to the hitch in Minghao’s breath when he pulls back delicate skin like silk, brushes the pad of his thumb around the head, and feels the rush of adrenaline when Hansol makes a noise to his side.

Mingyu opens his mouth to say something, literally any of the infinite things rushing through his brain, but instead just lets out a breathless sort of laugh, then shoves his face into the blankets to choke back an ugly wet sound.

“Hyung?” Hansol asks.

Mingyu has never felt this self-conscious in bed before, fully clothed, on his stomach, desperately hard already just from making out and _thinking_ about sucking a dick. You pull one brick out of a wall and the whole thing comes toppling down.

Mingyu laughs again, smoothing a hand up Minghao’s abs, giving him an apologetic look that Minghao meets darkly, eyes blown and attentive. “Sorry, I just—I’m really, really turned on right now. I,” he swallows again, why is his fucking mouth so _wet,_ “I keep almost drooling.”

“What the fuck,” Minghao whimpers, hand moving down and touching Mingyu’s temple delicately. It’s gentle, almost faint, like he’s afraid his hand will go through Mingyu like a phantom or a dream if he’s too rough.

They’ll figure out soon enough just how rough Mingyu sometimes likes things. They have time to get there, for Minghao and Hansol to catch up to him. For now, this is more than enough.

Ever-thoughtful, ever-purposeful, Hansol’s response comes out low and slow. “I can help you. If you want.”

Something curious in Mingyu’s mind curls into his throat, winding up his brainstem, cooing, _You have to show them what you can do._ A challenge, a nagging worry that Mingyu is going to get ahead of himself and fuck up something he wants so badly before he’s even started, that he’s about to get his hands and mouth and clumsy heart on something too strong to need him.

It’s easy to get caught up in, which is exactly why he can’t. That’s not what Minghao and Hansol are like. They want what he can give.

Heart thundering in his ears, Mingyu takes a deep breath and looks up at Hansol, whose hand is twined with Minghao’s between them. Hansol’s thumb caresses the hills and valleys of Minghao’s knuckles, and their eyes are soft on Mingyu, gentle faces tinted pink. It flares something warm in his chest, takes the edge off in one way and sharpens something else. 

“Really? You’ll help me?”

A smile spreads over Hansol’s face. “Yeah, hyung. He’s sensitive, so you can keep going slow, like you were.”

“Don’t tell him how to tease me,” Minghao groans, but he’s smiling too, bright pink and pleased, giggling into the back of his wrist, arm half-flung over his face.

The sound of it sends sparks up Mingyu’s nerves, and he presses a kiss to the jut of Minghao’s hip, pillowing his cheek in the furrow above it. It pushes his t-shirt up a little, revealing a peek of the cut of his abs, and Mingyu exhales sharply, trying to very subtly shift his hips on the bed. Overwhelming arousal buzzes through his skull. “I might need your help, Hansolie.”

“M’here, hyung.”

Mingyu nods, pulling his head back and running his tongue over his bottom lip. “Well, this part is kind of familiar, actually,” he admits, fingers a loose ring around the base of Minghao’s cock. He presses his parted lips to the head of it, feeling smooth, slick bitterness smear over his mouth. His tongue darts out to taste it. He thinks he likes it, or at the very least he likes that it affects Minghao and Hansol like this. “Used to slick up noona’s strap for her. For the visual, I think.”

“I do not blame her,” Hansol says, a little reverently, and Mingyu flushes, admiration like praise running pink up his skin. 

The honesty comes spilling out of him, overheating his system: “I like it. All stuffed full.”

Reveling a little in the strangled responses that elicits, Mingyu opens his mouth wide, slides Minghao’s dick up his tongue, the curve of it fitting soft and snug against him, and Minghao lets out a punched-out noise. It’s emboldening, to feel him fill out in his mouth, to tongue at the head and explore along the sides, to carefully try and close his lips around Minghao and to listen to him respond from where his ears are pressed flat and hot between his thin thighs, to listen to Hansol choke out, “Good. Uh, gentle. Good.”

Mingyu pulls back to evaluate, to assess, to press his luck. “It’s so different to feel it like this, though. S’good, all. soft and wet in my mouth. It’s so hot. You’re so hard, Hao. Do you always get so wet like this?” He smears spit and precome over his mouth again. 

It’s gratuitous, but it pays off, because Minghao whines, face scrunching up sweetly and burying it in Hansol’s neck where Hansol has cuddled closer to his side. “Make him stop, Hansolie,” he whimpers, cock twitching in Mingyu’s hand and against his mouth, more precome pulsing out, glossing over Mingyu’s lips. He didn’t even mean it as dirty talk, he’s just—eager. Excited.

Hansol laughs, but his eyes are blown dark like glass marbles, deep brown swirled with amber and gold. “You don’t mean that, hyung. You like it when he talks?”

“I can’t and—and won’t answer that,” Minghao huffs into Hansol’s jaw, but his hips twitch a little when Mingyu licks at him again, presses a kiss to him.

“Too bad you can’t talk and do this at the same time.” Hansol looks genuinely disappointed about it, and it makes Mingyu smile.

“You’d think you would relish the opportunity to shut me up,” jokes Mingyu.

He knows what he’s like, loud and excitable and boisterous, like he can’t help it. Where he just bubbles over with enthusiasm and is suddenly the only one talking in a crowd, laughing too-hard in the park, voice bouncing out of the laundry room and echoing down the hallway as he folds three people’s clothes. 

Hansol and Minghao know it, too. They get these matching wide-eyed looks on their faces that feel like an electric blanket when they settle over Mingyu, warm and all-encompassing.

“No, we like it. Like you so much.” Minghao lets out a sigh, hand pushing Mingyu’s hair out of his face and running a thumb over his eyebrow. “So pretty.”

A rush of heat gathers low in Mingyu, and he tries to hide the redness inevitably ruddying his cheeks by dipping his face and taking Minghao deeper all at once. Air is coming out his nose fast and sharp as Mingyu tries to steady his breathing, tongue drooling around the underside of Minghao’s cock as the head drags over the ridges of the roof of his mouth. He’s never really had to test his gag reflex like this, but the way Minghao’s grip flexes on his head is a reward in itself. His lips hit the circle of his fingers at the top of his fist and his eyes brighten in satisfaction, pleased with himself for being able to take it with ease. This isn’t so bad, especially with the way Minghao is looking down at him with this wide-eyed, parted-lip stare, half concerned, half like he can’t believe his eyes.

“Careful, you don’t have to do that much,” Hansol says, voice a little tight.

Mingyu nods as much as he can, easing back a little, opening his mouth to let his hand gather some slickness and work more of Minghao’s shaft that way, gentle with the hood.

“You can pull my hair, I like it,” Mingyu says as some response, and, _fuck,_ his voice is getting hoarse already. He thought that was a myth. “Show me how you like it.”

Hansol looks a little skeptical. Or, as skeptical as he can with a hand around his dick, moving slow but obvious now that he’s completely shed his clothes. “You sure?”

“Yeah, noona used to—” 

Any train of thought Mingyu’s attempting to board is quickly interrupted by his raw moan, torn from his throat at the sudden feeling of Minghao’s fingers tangling in his hair at the roots and tugging. It’s not hard enough to yank his head back, more experimental than anything, but the pressure goes right through him, sealed with the dark look in Minghao’s eyes contrasted with the pink blush blooming over his cheeks and ears.

“Hyung,” Hansol laughs, but it’s laced with something like agreement, like Minghao gives action to what Hansol wishes he could voice.

Acting without thinking isn’t quite the right way to put it. It’s more that Minghao’s emotions run so high, it’s not a matter of if he’ll act on them, but which one will take point. Most of the time it’s sweetness, consideration, but Mingyu likes it when Minghao’s careful hands and thoughtful words are tinted with possession, with a hunger like dropping a wire into the bathtub, turning one spark into a sea of them, nothing but current. 

And if the way Hansol pitches forward at a ridiculous angle just to kiss the daylights out of Minghao is any indication, Hansol likes it too.

When they pull apart, Mingyu’s chest is still heaving, and Hansol and Minghao are looking at him, the expanse of his neck exposed and flushed, mouth pink-swollen and spit-wet, hips pushed against the bed. It zips through him. It’s a telephone wire in the middle of summer; he’s certain they can see the vibration, power surging through his nerves, and he wants so much to generate enough love to get them to keep him here with them, in every sense of the concept.

He just wants to do well. Prove himself. Prove to himself that opening himself up to this, all of this, wasn’t too much to take on. After all, Mingyu’s always been able to rise to a challenge.

Mingyu runs his fingertips up and down Minghao’s length, feeling it wet-tacky, leaking steadily even now. Minghao’s hand tightens in his hair.

“I like this so much,” Mingyu says before his reason can catch up, spinning it into a joke that has roots far too deep in the soil of his desire, further affirmed by the way he is trying very hard not to grind his hips against a temptingly bunched-up section of blanket. “Wanna do this forever. Gonna quit my job. M’boss is gonna—g-gonna ask my reason for leaving, and I will very seriously tell him because I’m going to make sucking cock my occupation.”

“There’s a tax form for that, I think.”

Hansol laughs in the back of his throat. “Write off spa visits, face massage.”

“You can cut down on bills if you move in. Replace your commute with practice time. Feels like fair compensation, considering.” Minghao adds it airily, knuckles white where he’s gripping Hansol’s hand. His hips are fucking into the tight furl of Mingyu’s fist, head meeting the flicker of Mingyu’s tongue where he’s drooling in earnest now, messy and careless over his fingers and down into Minghao’s lap.

“We don’t have the finances to support a sugar baby, hyung,” Hansol huffs with a grin, hand moving obscenely on himself, soft stomach a pretty backdrop to his thickening cock.

All the blood rushes out of Mingyu’s chest up to his face and down to his own dick, vacating his brain and every other non-essential organ. This conversation is—none of them are being _serious,_ Mingyu earns more than them, he’s pretty sure, possibly combined, and he hasn’t been with them long enough—it’s—it’s only been a handful of _weeks._ Like. It’s a little stupid.

But as far as dirty talk goes? That shit’s _working._

“I’ll earn it.” 

It’s a coo, breathy by accident, more a result of Mingyu’s jaw strain than purposeful affect, but he sinks back down and swallows around Minghao’s cock because he doesn’t know how else to handle this, and the disbelieving, high-pitched noise Minghao lets out falls into discordant, ugly harmony with the sound of Hansol’s quiet moan at the sight, which feeds back into Mingyu’s effort.

Closed-circuit.

“Oh, _Mingyu,”_ Minghao keens, voice disappearing into gasps.

Hansol makes a startled sound, like he just remembered he’s supposed to be guiding Mingyu on this journey and has stranded Mingyu on the face of a cliff. “Oh! Oh, shit, ah, hyung, he’s close.”

“Wh-where, where,” Minghao stammers, and Mingyu gestures with a haphazard fan of his hand to his face, which makes Minghao shake his head, hips stuttering to match his struggle for words.

Mingyu’s only barely pulled off by the time Minghao comes with a shout, warm ribbons of come adorning his cheeks and chin and lips. Minghao’s knees draw up, his body curling in with the force of his orgasm, and he pulls at Mingyu’s hair, guiding him up by the roots and the back of the head to kiss him, sloppy, all tongue, in a truly breathtaking act of filth and fervor and fondness. Mingyu can taste the gratitude.

Hansol swears under his breath. “Probably not gonna last long, hyung, sorry.”

“Get ready, then. S’Hao’s turn to help,” Mingyu breathes, swallowing hard and fluttering his eyelashes meaningfully as he pushes his head into the cradle of Minghao’s palm. His face feels kind of sticky. He can only imagine how he looks, rumpled and hard in his pants and covered in come.

For a moment Minghao only blinks at Mingyu, then he laughs breathlessly. “Hit my leg if you need off,” is all he says, mischievous agreement, and Mingyu’s chest fills with warm static as Minghao’s hand, tangling harder in his hair, tips Mingyu over and pushes his head down to take Hansol’s hard, cut dick into his mouth.

There’s a gasp, and then a quiet smacking noise, likely Hansol and Minghao kissing above him, Mingyu’s legs piled awkwardly under his body in Minghao’s lap as Minghao guides his head up and down along Hansol’s length. Absently he’s glad Hansol’s closer, as his jaw is starting to ache from time spent on Minghao, and Hansol is a good deal thicker, dragging his lips into a round pout on each long suck.

“Pretty,” Mingyu hears under someone’s breath, and a hum of agreement, and Mingyu whines through his nose.

“Gorgeous,” Hansol says, louder, punctuating it with a shuddering breath, thighs tensing again. “Mingyu,” he says, with this incredulous tone of voice that feels like a balm, remolds itself in his brain to sound like _good,_ gets his clothed hips grinding against the inside of Minghao’s thigh. “Hyung,” he hears, like a correction.

Mingyu never thought he would feel so at home here, like he’s completing a circuit. If Minghao is the anode, feeding current into Mingyu and lighting him up, Hansol is the cathode, absorbing all that excess energy and sending it back to Minghao, months of familiarity lending confidence to his simple touches and glances. Each movement sparks a feedback loop that sends all three of them into wave after wave of affection and arousal.

“Mingyu.” Hansol is so _still,_ it’s so hard to tell what’s happening with him, and Mingyu tries to glance up into his face, catch his eye, see if he’s doing well, but his eyes are screwed shut, long eyelashes pretty, tongue caught between his teeth like he can’t make noise else he’ll get in trouble.

It was Hansol, first, beyond all expectation. His eyes caught Hansol’s in the laundry room, both of them the only people meticulous enough to actually sort brights against whites against delicates. Some song with a bassline that makes the hair on the back of Mingyu’s head stand up started playing, and Hansol gave him this considering, sidelong grin, and Mingyu accidentally started the wash cycle with his phone inside the machine.

Over the course of some months Mingyu has become intimately acquainted with the way Hansol is an easy conductor, lets everything pass through him, including all of Mingyu’s nerves, wound tight in the middle of his chest like he couldn’t breathe until Hansol’s cupped hands received them, strong like a sieve, filters out all the bullshit so Mingyu can see everything clearly in front of him.

_(“Hyung, what’s going on?”_

_“Hansolie, I—” and the words stuck in his throat, coming out instead as a spectacular red flush, roses blooming over his skin while he stared at the sticky-note love messages plastered to the refrigerator in two sets of handwriting like it was their fault Mingyu couldn’t find his voice._

_And Hansol waited, eyes focused solely on Mingyu.)_

“You okay with another on your face, baby?” Minghao asks gently, voice more even now, dripping with affection. It feels as steadying as the hand on the back of his head. Magnetic forces, Minghao’s hand at his north and Hansol’s cock his south. Perfectly suspended between poles.

Trying to be mindful of his teeth, Mingyu makes a stuffed-mouth sound of affirmation, and Hansol chokes on nothing.

It sounds far away when Minghao giggles. “The vibration.”

Before he processes it fully, Mingyu hums again with realization, and Hansol is breathing hard, pushing gently at Mingyu’s shoulders. Minghao eases him back, and Hansol’s hand is tight and quick on himself for maybe three seconds before he’s shooting, too, quiet but for his heaving breaths, layering stripe after stripe over Minghao’s come and Mingyu’s lips, over his tongue where he’s sticking it out lewdly to, admittedly, try to get a reaction.

Mingyu swallows and hums again, features arranging themselves curiously as he tries to decide if he likes that part. He could probably get used to it, in whatever case. One of Hansol’s hands cards through his hair, thumb gentle on his temple like Minghao’s earlier, and Mingyu thinks he could definitely get used to this, at least.

“You feel okay, hyung?” Hansol asks, trying to sit back against the headboard.

“Uh huh.” Eyes closed, Mingyu turns to allow the movement, unfolding his legs over Minghao’s lap and leaning into Hansol’s touch, stretching his neck against Hansol’s thighs, one cheek pillowing on his lower stomach. “Was it okay?” he asks quietly.

There’s a beat of silence, and it makes Mingyu open one squinted eye. Hansol and Minghao are sharing a silent look, communicating wordlessly with so much ease Mingyu almost wouldn’t be surprised if they did say they are telepaths. They refocus it to beam down toward him, eyebrows knit together in twin expressions.

Hansol answers first, and it comes out careful. “What you lack in technique you make up for in every other possible way.”

Mingyu’s heart turns over like an engine stalling, sputtering in his chest like one more speed bump will knock it into failure, billowing smoke. He throws an arm over his eyes, taking the opportunity to scrub at one cheek with the back of his hand where it’s tacky, and makes a dissatisfied noise, a tiny, petulant, frustrated thing.

“It’s really not your fault,” Minghao says, one hand sliding up Mingyu’s leg, ankle to thigh, “We were supposed to be helping you and we got sort of… carried away.” He sounds sheepish, but not regretful. A smile is tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Let me try again,” Mingyu says through his teeth, scrambling up on his hands to try to turn himself over and push back onto his stomach.

Hansol catches his wrist, forearm pushing at Mingyu’s sternum to pin him down again, flat on his back across their legs. There’s a sharp tug in the pit of Mingyu’s stomach about that, but his indignance and determination are fighting to supersede it. “Hyung, it was your first—and second—try. Also, don’t forget we very much did come,” he laughs, “Hard.”

“I mean. Look at you,” Minghao murmurs, tongue running over his lip. 

Sometimes Minghao and Hansol look at Mingyu like they’ve never seen a boy before, like they want to sink their claws in, tear him apart or eat him whole. Mingyu thinks if they asked, he’d let them.

“Yeah. And I don’t know about you, but we can’t go again that quick,” says Hansol. Mingyu snorts a little, because they _will_ know about him sooner or later. Hopefully sooner. Hansol sees it and tweaks one of Mingyu’s nipples through his shirt, grinning at both Mingyu’s squeak and his subsequent smug look. “Mm, good to know.”

“Can we show you just how good you did, Minggoo?” Minghao asks gently, thumb brushing over the crease where his thigh meets his hip, ghosting where Mingyu’s hardness throbs.

“I _guess.”_ Mingyu closes his eyes with a flutter of eyelashes. He’s smiling now, even as the heat still simmers under his cheeks and neck.

While Mingyu is trying to be patient, his arousal has been on a rollercoaster ride over the last hour or so and he really, really wants to put himself in Hansol and Minghao’s hands. Turn off his brain, thrumming as loud as the rest of him, and just—have this, splayed across their laps like he’s theirs.

He’s already theirs.

Seconds that feel like hours tick by agonizingly and Mingyu can’t help but to open one eye again. “Everything good?”

“So good.” Minghao thumbs open the button and unzips Mingyu’s pants, and Mingyu’s giggle turns into a shallow gasp when Minghao’s hand slides over his hardness in his briefs with what leeway he’s given himself.

“Very good,” Hansol half-echoes, his own hands making their way under Mingyu’s shirt to rub gently at his nipples, pressing the pads of his thumbs to them and grinning when Mingyu tries to arch up into both of their hands at once.

The sound of Mingyu’s whine muffles in the fabric of his shirt when Hansol pushes it up over his head and, with some effort, tugs it off completely. Minghao’s hand leaves his dick to wiggle Mingyu’s pants down and off, too, and Mingyu finds himself on display for the first time, four hands wandering his body with reverence that feels like greed, hunger that feels like worship, each touch sending sparks through him.

“You did so much talking before,” Hansol says thoughtfully, sliding his hand through Mingyu’s hair. “Where’s all that now?”

“Well, we can double mark sucking dick off your list,” Minghao says. His hand returns to Mingyu’s thigh, thumb rubbing circles higher and higher into the soft meat of it. “What else was on there?”

Mingyu’s eyes squeeze shut, dick throbbing. It would be easier to just show them the list, and he will, so they can talk about it. But for right now he has to remember something, anything from it, as tall and impossible an order as that seems. “I, uh, ah, wanna ride you?”

A coo of delight gets caught in Minghao’s throat, and there’s a sharp little _click_ some seconds before his lubricated hand wraps around Mingyu and gives him a slow jerk. 

Letting out a long sigh of relief, Mingyu opens his mouth to say something else, feed into the fantasy, try to get more attention, more pressure, more, more, but—“Oh, God, please please please,” he moans instead, Hansol’s hand tightening in his hair and exposing his neck. “Promise I’m so good at taking it.”

“Yeah? You wanna take Myungho-hyung’s cock? Want to sit on it so he can fuck you ‘til you come? It feels so good, you’ll love it. Know you’ll be good at taking it for us.”

Each murmured suggestion is accompanied by Minghao’s hand working faster over his aching dick, and Mingyu’s ears are ringing with his own whimpery little _uh-uh-uhs_ while he writhes between their hands. He’s so close, the white heat of orgasm jolting through his nerves, he just needs—

 _“Hhh-oh, fuck!”_ Mingyu wails at the feeling of one slick fingertip ghosting over his hole.

The mere suggestion of it is enough to have his whole body convulsing and curling in on itself as Mingyu comes with gasping whimpers. He reaches up blindly, managing to get a hand on the back of Hansol’s neck and drag himself up for a messy kiss while he shakes through it, aftershocks zapping down his spine as the last of his come pulses into Minghao’s delicate hand. Hansol’s kiss is warm and solid, like the rest of him, a smile curling up at the edges.

“Now me,” Minghao says, holding his come-covered hand out to the side while he leans in to kiss Mingyu, too, teeth grazing his lower lip like a thank you, noses brushing sweetly.

Thoroughly spent, Mingyu wriggles into place between Hansol and Minghao, their bodies turned toward him like parentheses and their hands tangled together on his stomach, gentle and possessive in equal measure. He blinks, slow and languid, all his electricity feeding a space heater in his chest, and takes in the fond, careful look they have trained on him.

“If you get my phone you can look at the list,” he mumbles with a wry grin, and feels as much as he hears Minghao and Hansol laughing against him.

Maybe Mingyu can learn to be okay with not being perfect right away. He has a lot to learn, and a lot of practice to look forward to.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!
> 
> find me on [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/pixiepowerao3) and [curiouscat](http://www.curiouscat.me/pixiepower/)!


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